


Insanity

by whatismyname_idk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Mycroft Whump, Present Tense, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatismyname_idk/pseuds/whatismyname_idk
Summary: "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."Mycroft, sometime shortly after the events of Sherrinford.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Insanity

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

I am lonely. But not in the way that Sherlock thinks. Or perhaps, exactly in the way that Sherlock thinks. But what he doesn't know is that I know. That I feel it so deeply its very presence is like a gaping wound saping at my strength. I'm bleeding out; I have been for as long as I can remember.

Sherlock… he merely wants to win, to one-up me and feel triumphant at last. Hopes that it will annoy me and get me to leave him alone.

I never will, though. I never have. Over and over, as many times as he hurts me, I'm always there for him. I always will be. Until I'm not needed anymore.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

He always was the slow one. But now, I think I've been the slow one all along. I think Mummy was right. Sherlock always was the grown-up, in that he has, in fact, grown up. He changes, he grows, sometimes so quickly it makes my dead old heart clench in fear.

Me, though, I stay the same, don't I? Same routine, same bland smile, same _fucking_ loneliness. It's always there. But like a fool, I've continued to hope for different results. Expect? No, perhaps not. But hope? I have hoped for a long time.

Hoped for my brother - first to be content, then to overcome addiction, and then to stay both sober and content.

I hoped for myself, too. I hoped that I could be good enough. I hoped that I could protect everyone. I thought I could, if only I stayed the same. Same routine, same smile, same _fucking_ loneliness. Day in and day out. Maintain the status quo.

Follow the path that you've been assigned and maybe you'll have been good enough, strong enough, clever enough - maybe you'll have finally been enough to keep Sherlock safe, keep Mummy and Father happy, keep the Queen and country running.

You have no time for leisure or happiness, Mikey. You require discipline. You have a purpose here, do not waver. Because if you give and you give and you give then…

Then what? Then maybe I'll be good enough? Except. There is no good enough. Because there's always more, more, more ‐ more work to do, more people to organize, more of Sherlock's friends to look after, more meetings to attend and more of the world to run. And I'm never fucking good enough.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Giving and giving, and expecting it to be enough. Expecting _me_ to be enough. But I'm not. I never will be.

So then what is my purpose? 

Sherrinford out in the open, Mummy and Father furious and betrayed, Anthea ready to be promoted and Lestrade the same. And Sherlock.

Sherlock. Once upon a time, I'd hoped. Hoped for a better relationship with him, hoped for my little brother back - not the same as the young pirate running around with a plastic sword, but the same comfortability, the same implicit trust. It had been foolish to hope, I can see now.

Chances to have a relationship with my brother are long past, and I am left with the bitter sting of regret. So Sherlock… no. Sherlock holds no purpose for me either.

He has John, now, and Lestrade, and Miss Hooper, and of course Miss Adler. And Rosie, the beautiful child. Sherlock is sober, Sherlock is happy, Sherlock is content.

And I am left, once again, wondering what truly keeps me here. Perhaps nothing does.

Perhaps only I myself keep me here.

And if that is true… is it not time to leave?

* * *

**Autopsy Report**  
St. Thomas' Hospital  
January 17 2017  
Case #79  
Examiner: James Williams

Name of Deceased: Thomas Mycroft Liam Holmes  
Age: 51  
Weight: 11 st.  
Height: 1.85 m  
Race: White  
Sex: Male

Toxicology:  
— Blood:  
\- Blood alcohol level of 0.34  
\- No evidence of drugs present  
\- Blood glucose level of 66 mg/dL (normal range of 70-250 mg/dL)  
— Stomach Contents:  
\- Partially digested alcohol  
\- No evidence of food present

Estimated Time of Death: January 15 2017 02:38 AM

Cause of Death: Gunshot wound to the chest

Manner of Death: Suicide

* * *

John Watson stood at the grave of a man he once hated. Some part of him still resented the secretive man, but such grudges could no longer be held against a body in the ground. 

"I'll look after him, Mycroft. I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> idk  
> it's now 3:09 am  
> i need sleep  
> ...and more Mycroft whump


End file.
